The Priest, The Woman And The Confessional

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The poor, unprotected girl is thus thrown into the power of the priest,
soul and body, to be examined on all the sins she may ignore, or which,
through shame, she may conceal! On what boundless sea of depravity the poor
fragile bark is launched by the priest! On what bottomless abysses of
impurities she will have to pass and travel, in company with the priest
alone, before he will have interrogated her on all the sins she may ignore,
and which she may have concealed through shame!! Who can tell the
sentiments of surprise and shame and distress, of a timid, honest young
girl, when, for the first time, she is initiated to infamies which are
ignored even in houses of prostitution!!!

But such is the practice, the sacred duty of the spiritual physician. "Let
him (the priest confessor) with wisdom and subtlety interrogate the sinner
on the sins he may ignore or conceal with shame."

And there are 100,000 men, not only allowed, but petted, and often paid by
the governments to do that, under the name of the God of the Gospel!

Fourthly, I answer to the sophism of the priest, When the physician has any
delicate and dangerous operation to perform on a female patient, he is
_never_ alone; the husband, or the father, the mother, the sister, or some
friends of the patient are there, whose scrutinizing eyes and attentive
ears make it _impossible_ for the physician to say or do any improper
thing.

But, when the poor deluded spiritual patient comes to be treated by her
so-called spiritual physician, and shows him her diseases, is she not
alone--shamefully alone--with him? Where are the protecting ears of the
husband, the father, the mother, the sisters, or the friends? Where is the
barrier interposed between this sinful, weak, tempted, and often depraved
man and his victim?

Would the priest so freely ask _this_ and _that_ from that married woman,
if he knew that the husband could hear him? No, surely not; for he is well
aware that the enraged husband would blow out the brains of the villain
who, under the sacrilegious pretext of purifying the soul of his wife, is
filling her honest heart with every kind of pollution and infamy.

Fifthly, When the physician performs a delicate operation on one of his
female patients, the operation is usually accompanied with pain, cries, and
often with bloodshed. The sympathetic and honest physician suffers almost
as much pain as his patient; those cries, acute pains, tortures, and
bleeding wounds make it morally impossible that the physician should be
tempted to any improper thing.

But the sight of the spiritual wounds of that fair penitent! Is the poor
depraved human heart really sorry to see and examine them? Oh, no! it is
just the contrary!

The dear Saviour weeps over those wounds; the angels are distressed at the
sight. Yes. But the deceitful and corrupt heart of man, is it not rather
apt to be pleased at the sight of wounds which are so much like the ones he
has himself, so often been pleased to receive from the hand of the enemy?

Was the heart of David pained and horror-struck at the sight of the fair
Bath-sheba, when imprudently and too freely exposed in her bath? Was not
that holy prophet smitten and brought down to the dust by that guilty look?
Was not the mighty giant, Samson, undone by the charms of Delilah? Was not
the wise Solomon ensnared and befooled in the midst of the women by whom he
was surrounded?

Who will believe that the bachelors of the Pope are made of stronger metal
than the Davids, the Samsons, and the Solomons? Where is the man who has so
completely lost his common sense as to believe that the priests of Rome are
stronger than Samson, holier than David, wiser than Solomon? Who will
believe that confessors will stand up on their feet amidst the storms which
prostrate in the dust those giants of the armies of the Lord? To suppose
that, in the generality of cases the confessor can resist the temptations
by which he is daily surrounded in the confessional, that he will
constantly refuse the golden opportunities which offer themselves to him,
to satisfy the almost irresistible propensities of his fallen human nature,
is neither wisdom nor charity; it is simply folly.

I do not say that all the confessors and their female penitents fall into
the same degree of abject degradation; thanks be to God, I have known
several who nobly fought their battles and conquered on that field of so
many shameful defeats. But these are the exceptions. It is just as when the
fire has ravaged one of our grand forests of America--how sad it is to see
the numberless noble trees fallen under the devouring element! But, here
and there the traveller is not a little amazed and pleased to find some
which have proudly stood the fiery trial without being consumed.

Has not the world at large been struck with terror when they heard of the
fire which a few years ago had reduced the great city of Chicago to ashes?
But those who have visited that doomed city, and seen the desolating ruins
of her 16,000 houses, had to stand in silent admiration before a few which,
in the very midst of an ocean of fire, had escaped untouched by the
destructive element.

It is so that, owing to a most marvellous protection of God, some
privileged souls do escape, here and there, the fatal destruction which
overtakes so many others in the confessional.

The confessional is just as the spider's web. How many too unsuspecting
flies find death when seeking rest on the beautiful framework of their
deceitful enemy! How few escape! and this only after a most desperate
struggle. See how the perfidious spider looks harmless in his retired, dark
corner; how motionless he is; how patiently he waits for his opportunity!
But look how quickly he surrounds his victim with his silky, delicate, and
imperceptible links! how mercilessly he sucks its blood and destroys its
life!

What does remain of the imprudent fly, after she has been entrapped into
the nets of her foe? Nothing but a skeleton. So it is with your fair wife,
your precious daughter; nine times in ten nothing but a moral skeleton
returns to you, after the Pope's black spider has been allowed to suck the
very blood of her heart and soul. Let those who would be tempted to think
that I do exaggerate read the following extracts from the memoirs of the
Venerable Scipio de Ricci, Roman Catholic Bishop of Pistoia and Prato, in
Italy. They were published by the Italian Government, to show to the world
that some measures ought to be taken by the civil and ecclesiastical
authorities to prevent the nation from being entirely swept away by the
deluge of corruption flowing from the confessional, even among the most
perfect of Rome's followers, the monks and the nuns. The priests have never
dared to deny a single iota of those terrible revelations. In page 115 we
read the following letter from Sister Flavia Peraccini, Prioress of St
Catherine, to Dr. Thomas Comparini, Rector of the Episcopal Seminary of
Pistoia:--

"_January 22, 1775._--In compliance with the request which you made me this
day, I hasten to say something, but I know not how.

"Of those who are gone out of the world I shall say nothing. Of those who
are still alive and have very little decency of conduct there are many,
among whom there is an ex-provincial named Father Dr. Ballendi, Calvi,
Zoratti, Bigliaci, Guidi, Miglieti, Verde, Bianchi, Ducci, Seraphini,
Bolla, Nera di Luca, Quaretti, &c. But wherefore any more? With the
exception of three or four, all those whom I have ever known, alive or
dead, are of the same character; they have all the same maxims and the same
conduct.

"They are on more intimate terms with the nuns than if they were married to
them! I repeat it, it would require a great deal of time to tell half of
what I know. It is the custom now, when they come to visit and hear the
confession of a sick sister, to sup with the nuns, sing, dance, play, and
sleep in the convent. It is a maxim of theirs that God has forbidden
hatred, but _not love_, and that man is made for woman and woman for man.

"I say that they can deceive the innocent and the most prudent and
circumspect, and that it would be a miracle to converse with them and not
fall!"

Page 117.--"The priests are the husbands of the nuns, and the lay brothers
of the lay sisters. In the chamber of one of the nuns I have mentioned, one
day, a man was found; he fled away, but, soon after, they gave him to us as
our confessor extraordinary.

"How many bishops are there in the Papal States, who have come to the
knowledge of those disorders, have held examinations and visitations, and
yet never could remedy; it, because the monks, our confessors, tell us that
those are excommunicated who reveal what passes in the Order!

"Poor creatures! they think they are leaving the world to escape dangers,
and they only meet with greater ones. Our fathers and mothers have given us
a good education, and here we have to unlearn and forget what they have
taught us."

Page 118.--"Do not suppose that this is the case in our convent alone. It
is just the same at St. Lucia, Prato, Pisa, Perugia, &c. I have known
things that would astonish you. Everywhere it is the same. Yes, everywhere
the same disorders, the same abuses prevail. I say, and I repeat it, let
the superiors suspect as they may, they do not know the smallest part of
the enormous wickedness that goes on between the monks and the nuns whom
they confess. Every monk who passed by on his way to the chapter entreated
a sick sister to confess to him, and...!"

Page 119.--"With respect to Father Buzachini I say that he acted just as
the others, sitting up late in the nunnery, diverting himself, and letting
the usual disorders go on. There were several nuns who had love affairs on
his account. His own principal mistress was Odaldi, of St. Lucia, who used
to send him continual treats. He was also in love with the daughter of our
factor, of whom they were very jealous here. He ruined also poor
Cancellieri, who was sextoness. The monks are all alike with their
penitents.

"Some years ago, the nuns of St. Vincent, in consequence of the
extraordinary passion they had for their father confessors Lupi and
Borghiani, were divided into two parties, one calling themselves Le Lupe,
the other Le Borghieni.

"He who made the greatest noise was Donati. I believe he is now at Rome.
Father Brandi, too, was also in great vogue. I think he is now prior of St.
Gemignani. At St. Vincent, which passes for a very holy retreat, they have
also their lovers...."

My pen refuses to reproduce several things which the nuns of Italy have
published against their father confessors. But this is enough to show to
the most incredulous that the confession is nothing else but a school of
perdition, even among those who make a profession to live in the highest
regions of Roman Catholic holiness--the monks and the nuns.

Now, from Italy let us go to America and see again the working of auricular
confession, not between the holy (?) nuns and monks of Rome, but among the
humblest classes of country women and priests. Great is the number of
parishes where women have been destroyed by their confessors, but I will
speak only of one.

When curate of Beauport, I was called by the Rev. Mr. Proulx, curate of St.
Antoine, to preach a retreat (a revival) with the Rev. Mr. Aubry, to his
parishioners, and eight or ten other priests were also invited to come and
help us to hear the confessions.

The very first day after preaching and passing five or six hours in the
confessional, the hospitable curate gave us a supper before going to bed.
But it was evident that a kind of uneasiness pervaded the whole company of
the father confessors. For my own part, I could hardly raise my eyes to
look at my neighbour, and when I wanted to speak a word it seemed that my
tongue was not free as usual; even my throat was as if it were choked; the
articulation of the sounds was imperfect. It was evidently the same with
the rest of the priests. Instead, then, of the noisy and cheerful
conversation of the other meals, there were only a few insignificant words
exchanged with a half-supressed tone.

The Rev. Mr. Proulx (the curate) at first looked as if he were partaking
also of that singular though general despondent feeling. During the first
part of the lunch he hardly said a word; but at last, raising his head and
turning his honest face towards us, in his usual gentlemanly and cheerful
manner, he said:--

"Dear friends, I see that you are all under the influence of the most
painful feelings. There is a burden on you that you can neither shake off
nor bear as you wish. I know the cause of your trouble, and I hope you will
not find fault with me if I help you to recover from that disagreeable
mental condition. You have heard in the confessional the history of many
great sins, but I know that this is not what troubles you. You are all old
enough in the confessional to know the miseries of poor human nature.
Without any more preliminaries I will come to the subject. It is no more a
secret in this place that one of the priests who has preceded me has been
very unfortunate, weak, and guilty with the greatest part of the married
women whom he has confessed. Not more than one in ten have escaped him. I
would not mention this fact had I got it only from the confessional, but I
know it well from other sources, and I can speak of it freely without
breaking the secret seal of the confessional. Now what troubles you is
that, probably, when a good number of those women have confessed to you
what they had done with their confessor, you have not asked them how long
it was since they had sinned with him, and in spite of yourselves you think
that I am the guilty man. This does, naturally, embarrass you when you are
in my presence and at my table. But please ask them, when they come again
to confess, how many months or years have passed away since their last love
affair with a confessor, and you will see that you may suppose that you are
in the house of an honest man. You may look me in the face and have no fear
to address me as if I were still worthy of your esteem; for, thanks be to
God, I am not the guilty priest who has ruined and destroyed so many souls
here."

The curate had hardly pronounced the last word when a general "We thank
you; for you have taken away a mountain from our shoulders," fell from
almost every lip. "It is a fact that, notwithstanding the good opinion we
had of you," said several, "we were in fear that you had missed the right
track, and fallen down with your fair penitents into the ditch."

I felt myself much relieved; for I was one of those who, in spite of
myself, had my secret fears about the honesty of our host. When, very early
the next morning, I had begun to hear the confessions, one of those
unfortunate victims of the confessor's depravity came to me, and in the
midst of many tears and sobs, she told me with great details what I repeat
here in a few lines:--

"I was only nine years old when my first confessor began to do very
criminal things with me when I was at his feet, confessing my sins. At
first I was ashamed and much disgusted; but soon after I became so depraved
that I was looking eagerly for every opportunity of meeting him either in
his own house, or in the church, in the vestry, and many times in his own
garden when it was dark at night. That priest did not remain very long; he
was removed, to my great regret, to another place, where he died. He was
succeeded by another one, who seemed at first to be a very holy man. I made
to him a general confession with, it seems to me, a sincere desire to give
up for ever that sinful life, but I fear that my confessions became a cause
of sin to that good priest; for not long after my confession was finished,
he declared to me in the confessional his love, with such passionate words
that he soon brought me down again into my former criminal habits with him.
This lasted six years, when my parents removed to this place. I was very
glad of it, for I hoped that, being far away from him, I should not be any
more a cause of sin to him, and that I might begin a better life. But the
fourth time that I went to confess to my new confessor, he invited me to go
to his room, where we did things so horrible together that I do not know
how to confess them. It was two days before my marriage, and the only child
I have had is the fruit of that sinful hour. After my marriage I continued
the same criminal life with my confessor. He was the friend of my husband;
we had many opportunities of meeting each other, not only when I was going
to confess, but when my husband was absent and my child was at school. It
was evident to me that several other women were as miserable and criminal
as I was myself. This sinful intercourse with my confessor went on till God
Almighty stopped it with a real thunderbolt. My dear only daughter had gone
to confess and receive the holy communion. As she had come back from church
much later than I expected, I inquired the reason which had kept her so
long. She then threw herself into my arms, and with convulsive cries said:
'Dear mother, do not ask me any more to go to confess.... Oh! if you could
know what my confessor has asked me when I was at his feet! and if you
could know what he has done with me, and he has forced me to do with him
when he had me alone in his parlour!'

"My poor child could not speak any longer, she fainted in my arms.

"But as soon as she recovered, without losing a minute, I dressed myself,
and, full of an inexpressible rage, I directed my steps towards the
parsonage. But before leaving my house, I had concealed under my shawl a
sharp butcher's knife to stab and kill the villain who had destroyed my
dearly beloved child. Fortunately for that priest, God changed my mind
before I entered his room--my words to him were few and sharp.

'You are a monster!' I said to him. 'Not satisfied to have destroyed me,
you want to destroy my own dear child, which is yours also! Shame upon you!
I had come with this knife to put an end to your infamies, but so short a
punishment would be too mild a one for such a monster. I want you to live,
that you may bear upon your head the curse of the too unsuspecting and
unguarded friends whom you have so cruelly deceived and betrayed; I want
you to live with the consciousness that you are known by me and many
others, as one of the most infamous monsters who have ever defiled this
world. But know that if you are not away from this place before the end of
this week, I will reveal everything to my husband, and you may be sure that
he will not let you live twenty-four hours longer, for he sincerely thinks
that your daughter is his, and he will be the avenger of her honour! I go
to denounce you this very day to the bishop, that he may take you away from
this parish, which you have so shamelessly polluted.'

"The priest threw himself at my feet, and, with tears, asked my pardon,
imploring me not to denounce him to the bishop, promising that he would
change his life and begin to live as a good priest. But I remained
inexorable. I went to the bishop, made my deposition, and warned his
lordship of the sad consequences which would follow, if he kept that curate
any longer in this place, as he seemed inclined to do. But before the eight
days had expired, he was put at the head of another parish, not very far
away from here."

The reader will, perhaps, like to know what has become of this priest.

He has remained at the head of that most beautiful parish of ----, as
curate, where I know it, he continued to destroy his penitents, till a few
years before he died, with the reputation of a good priest, an amiable man,
and a holy confessor!"

* * * * *

"For the mystery of iniquity doth already work:....

"And then shall that Wicked be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with
the spirit of His mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of His
coming:

"Even Him, whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power and
signs and lying wonders,

"And with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish;
because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved.

"And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should
believe a lie:

"That they all might be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure
in unrighteousness." (2 Thess. ii. 7-12.)

* * * * *

CHAPTER VII.

SHOULD AURICULAR CONFESSION BE TOLERATED AMONG CIVILIZED NATIONS?

* * * * *

Let my readers who understand Latin peruse the extracts I give from Bishop
Kenrick, Debreyne, Burchard, Dens or Liguori, and the most incredulous will
learn for themselves that the world, even in the darkest ages of old
paganism, has never seen anything so infamous and degrading as auricular
confession.

To say that auricular confession purifies the soul is not less ridiculous
and silly than to say that the white robe of the virgin, or the lily of the
valley, will become whiter by being dipped into a bottle of black ink.

Has not the Pope's celibate, by studying his books before he goes to the
confessional-box, corrupted his own heart, and plunged his mind, memory,
and soul into an atmosphere of impurity which would have been intolerable
even to the people of Sodom?

We ask it not only in the name of religion, but of common sense. How can
that man, whose heart and memory are just made the reservoir of all the
grossest impurities the world has ever known, help others to be chaste and
pure?

The idolaters of India believe that they will be purified from their sins
by drinking the water with which they have just washed the feet of their
priests.

What monstrous doctrine! The souls of men purified by the water which has
washed the feet of a miserable, sinful man! Is there any religion more
monstrous and diabolical than the Brahmin religion?

Yes, there is one more monstrous, deceitful, and contaminating than that.
It is the religion which teaches that the soul of man is purified by a few
magical words (called absolution), which come from the lips of a miserable
sinner, whose heart and intelligence have just been filled by the
unmentionable impurities of Dens, Liguori, Debreyne, Kenrick, &c., &c. For
if the poor Indian's soul is not purified by the drinking of the holy (?)
water which has touched the feet of his priest, at least that soul cannot
be contaminated by it. But who does not clearly see that the drinking of
the vile questions of the confessor contaminate, defile, and damn the soul?

Who has not been filled with deep compassion and pity for those poor
idolaters of Hindustan who believe that they will secure to themselves a
happy passage to the next life if they have the good luck to die when
holding in their hands the tail of a cow? But there are people among us who
are not less worthy of our supreme compassion and pity, for they hope that
they will be purified from their sins and be for ever happy if a few
magical words (called absolution) fall upon their souls from the polluted
lips of a miserable sinner sent by the Pope of Rome. The dirty tail of a
cow and the magical words of a confessor to purify the souls and wash away
the sins of the world are equally inventions of the Devil. Both religions
come from Satan, for they equally substitute the magical power of vile
creatures for the blood of Christ to save the guilty children of Adam. They
both ignore that the blood of the Lamb _alone_ cleanseth us from all sin.

Yes! auricular confession is a public act of idolatry, it is asking from a
man what God _alone_, through His Son Jesus, can grant: forgiveness of
sins. Has the Saviour of the world ever said to sinners, "Go to this or
that man for repentance, pardon, and peace"? No; but He has said to all
sinners, "Come unto Me." And from that day to the end of the world all the
echoes of heaven and earth will repeat these words of the merciful Saviour
to all the lost children of Adam, 'Come unto Me.'

When Christ gave to His disciples the power of the keys in these words,
"Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatsoever
ye shall loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven" (Matt. xviii. 18), He
had just explained His mind by saying, "If thy brother shall trespass
against thee" (v. 15). The Son of God Himself in that solemn hour protested
against the stupendous imposture of Rome by telling us positively that that
power of binding and loosing, forgiving and retaining sins, was _only_ in
reference to sins committed against _each other_. Peter had correctly
understood his Master's words when he asked, "How oft shall my brother sin
_against me_ and I forgive him?"

And in order that His true disciples might not be shaken by the sophisms of
Rome, or by the glittering nonsense of that band of silly half-Popish sect
called Tractarians, or Ritualists, the merciful Saviour gave the admirable
parable of the poor servant, which He closed by what He has so often
repeated, "So likewise shall my Heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye
from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses."
(Matt. xviii. 35).

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